


I'd Say I'm Teacher's Pet, But I'm No Pussy

by joaniedark



Category: All-New X-Factor, X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Evolution, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Dubious Ethics, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joaniedark/pseuds/joaniedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remy LeBeau has his work cut out for him with the pale-haired brat son of the assistant head of his school. Being a teacher, he takes an interest in setting the boy as much on the up and up as a part-time thief can manage, but it seems the boy may have other ideas.</p><p>A multiverse-based Charter School/Domestic Science Class AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday, September 4th: Higher Cookery Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd appreciate if people liked my [facebook page](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Joanie-Dark/823115634397499?ref=hl) if they like what I do. It'd be nice to see fans!

The second hand is creeping towards the twelve on the clock. It's so close, so terribly close to that beautiful bell. He could feel the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin. Three...two...

_Ziiiiip!_

_Briiiiing!_

"Hey Mr. L, sup?"

Goddammit.

Remy LeBeau got up from his desk with a sigh, shaking his head at that good for nothing problem child. This was the third time in the last two weeks he managed to get this close... _this close_ to giving the damn kid the detention he deserved. He needed something to knock him off his high horse.

Fast bastard.

"Today then, class, we gone be working on one of the simplest and yet most difficult tasks you can possibly have in good cooking--prepping our own basic roux." He knocked lightly on the side of the large metal pot he already had sitting on the teacher's station, letting the clang ring through the room. "You may wonder, 'Oh, Mr. LeBeau, how hard can slopping some fat and flour together be,' but let me tell you, one moment on the stove too long and BAM! Forty minutes hard cookin' gone burn and you'll have no bechamel to show off to yo mama in law. Let me tell you, not a good experience." Remy smiled, waiting for the laughter of his class.

There wasn't any.

Remy shook his head, his dark black eyes rolling. These kids, they just didn't understand.

"Well, anyway. Kids, your instructions are all written on your handouts, but I'll walk you bebettes through the process. Now I'd rather use some bacon grease myself, but we gone be makin' a basic, true French roux, as it's needed if you ever make any of the mother sauces. So get yourself some of the butter and all-purpose flour, and grab yourself a lil veggie bag if it takes your fancy to spice this up a bit."

The students started chattering amongst themselves as they lined up for the supply fridges, and Remy sighed a bit. It was a month into the class, and he had definitely managed to single out  _that_ student. There was always that one bad apple that you had to cut the rot out of before it infected the rest of the bag, but it was a bit of an issue in the particular case--somehow he managed to have that cocky brat the boss discovered was his a couple of years ago. It was relatively well known that the speed-demon had actually wanted to leave when he was a sophmore, considering that the Xavier Academy's courses would have essentially given him a high school diploma by then, but Erik had put down his iron fist to declare that any offspring he had to pay through college would be finishing their extra years at the charter school,  _verdammt!_

Which had just made the kid...irritating. It was relatively obvious he had signed on to Remy's course to take the piss, thinking it'd be a breeze to learn the fine arts of cooking. From what he'd heard from Erik himself, apparently he was sitting German as well and intentionally butchering the language simply to piss him off. He hadn't been talked about quite as much from the science and arts departments, but what he had heard...well. It was obvious the kid was acting out in more places than one.

 The rumors were it was a bit more than that too. Apparently he had a suspicious number of items appear in his bedrooms considering that he wasn't working a job, and the cops may have been called more than once on him. He was never caught on a camera, though, and so no one could prove anything happened. While Remy did have to admit that as an experienced "liberator" himself he was somewhat impressed with the kid's work, it still bothered him to no end that he was using his powers in such a way. Years the mutant rights movement had been going on, and it was slip ups like these that could wind up with Fox News breathing down their necks. Homo Superior may be around 10% of the population, after all, but it was still a minority. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was a side effect of going to a school aimed at the mutant youth of the tri-state area was a part of the problem, but he shook his head. No, the Academy had done nothing but good for most of the kids there; it was just one bad seed.

"Now make sure when the color turns caramel, you turn that there heat down," Remy said, stirring his pot at the front of the room and adjusting the temperature. "We still got a long way goin' here."

"Mr. LeBeau, seriously, can't we just buy this at the store?" He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tolerated moaned in the back. A couple students giggled, and before Remy could respond, there was a snap from a student a few tables over.

"Pietro, it's a  _shame_ you don't respect our teacher's art," the blue boy said, stirring his pot gently. "Some of us have expectations."

"That's right, Wagner," Remy said with a nod, and his star pupil beamed. Kid apparently was already gearing up to start a Bavarian bakery after graduation. Good, sweet boy. Honestly a shock he was Raven's kid with whom Remy was  _positive_ was the le diable himself. "Really, a good roux isn't somethin' you can get out of a jar. You need the labor that goes into it; it makes it all the sweeter."

The rest of the lesson went on relatively without a hitch, with most students successfully frying up a rich brown trinity-filled sauce, much to the delight of Remy. He had to be honest, first time he tried cooking the stuff it burned within the first ten minutes; he was glad there were relatively few casualties amongst the pots filling the classroom with a heavy aroma.

"You should find," Remy said, strolling towards the door, "that any sauce made from the fruits of your labor will give you a far more flavorful dish, so while it seems like a hell of a lot of work, it can be the vital difference between a good and an excellent dinner. I'll be stickin' all this in the Tupperware for us to work on next week." As he finished, the bell for the end of the period rang, and Remy felt a painful thud against his arm he had just managed to stretch across the door frame in time. He leaned down to drag the wincing white-haired boy up by his collar.

"See you Monday, class, we gone cook up a quality gumbo then!" He waved as the students packed up to leave the class, then turned to the boy he was still holding. "We need to talk, Mr. Maximoff."

Pietro wouldn't stop  _fidgeting_ as the non-teleporting members of the class filed out, much to Remy's annoyance. As the last girl left, he effortlessly extended his leg a full 90 degrees to the side and kicked it closed. He let go of Pietro's collar and leaned against the door with a frown.

"You've been suffering in your classes, and as both your course and guidance teacher, I'm very concerned about your performance." He could practically hear the teenager's eyes roll. "I know you're trying to stick it to your dad, hell, I know authority issues. But I wanted to see if you really realized the chances you're squandering."

"Hey, I'm doing just fine as far as I'm concerned."

Remy pointed at Pietro's workstation. The cast iron pot was on fire.

Pietro shrugged. "Just fine, Mr. LeBeau."

"That's not just fine an' you know it," Remy said. "Look, I can't keep you right now, end of the day and all, but tomorrow you're stuck with a detention. I don't want your to think of it as punishment, we're gone work out a plan o' attack instead, you see?"

"It's  _Friday_ tomorrow though!" Pietro whined.

"Think of it as an hour away from dealin' with your family."

The explanation seemed to suit Pietro, as he looked to the ceiling thoughtfully and nodded. Satisfied, Remy stepped away from the door.

"And there you--" the door smashed open and the boy in front of him was replaced with a blur, "--go."

Remy looked at the still flaming pot and sighed.


	2. Thursday, September 4th: The Long Commute

Wanda tapped her fingers on the wheel of the jeep while she waited for her brother. He was late. Boy was never late. He always would be laying out provocatively on her damn hood, smirking at her while she fiddled with grabbing her keys. She honestly didn’t know why she didn’t just force the guy to run home instead of getting a ride.

It was a shame it was a Thursday; Lorna would have loved to actually have front seat privileges, she was sure, but she was with her loving parents having a great time not dealing with their father during the week. Lucky bitch.

She heard a quick rush of wind and a slam, and turned to see Pietro buckling his seatbelt next to her.

“What took you?”

"LeBeau had the actual nerve to give me detention tomorrow," Pietro said, bouncing in his seat. "Hurry up, I could be halfway home by now."

"Pete, we live in  _Connecticut._ " Wanda shook her head and chuckled a bit to herself, turning on the ignition. "Too far. Besides, remember last time you decided to try to run there?"

Pietro let out an indiscernable mumble.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you?"

Pietro gave an exasperated sigh. 

"I tripped and went through a  _waaaaall_ ," he groaned. 

"And that's why high-velocity running isn't always the best choice."

"Hey, I paid the fine."

"No,  _mom_ paid the fine." Wanda glared at him quickly before pulling out into the street. " _She_ had to pay to rebuild the town hall, and  _that's_ why we're stuck spending 100% of our time with Erik instead of fifty."

"How come we couldn't stay with Uncle Django and Aunt Marya is what I want to know," Pietro grumbled, and stuck up his finger. "Before you say anything about us not being able to fit in their little apartment in Brooklyn, I'd rather live on their sofa than have to deal with those two."

"You're just saying that," Wanda said. 

"I know you'd rather be staying with them too."

She didn't respond, merely turning on her iPod. 90s riot grrrl broke the palpable wall of silence between the twins. Wanda wouldn't say it out loud, and she honestly knew that her brother was rather torn over the familial relationships as well. It wasn't something to talk about, really. There was no doubt that their father had his issues, but neither of them could really help still feeling some odd tug towards him.

As soon as they were on the highway Wanda was a good ten miles over the speed limit on average, and glancing over she noticed the white-haired boy seemed to have brightened up a bit. It was no doubt still too slow for him, but she was still glad to see him happy. She clicked her tongue to get his attention, and he looked over at her. She pointed at a McDonald's billboard, to which he rose an eyebrow.

Lifting her left hand, she moved her wrist in a complicated pattern, immediately making Ronald's nose explode.

The twins both burst into laughter and she turned up the stereo, speeding into the passing lane amid a cacophony of honks from fellow drivers.

* * *

 

The traffic was relatively light, and in less than an hour the twins arrived outside the lovely colonial Xavier-Lehnsherr house. Before Wanda could even turn off the Jeep, Pietro was already out of the car, in the house, and up the stairs, sprawled on the bed with laptop in hand. His foot jittered faster than could be easily seen by the naked eye as he waited for the start up.

"Goddammit, Windows," he shouted angrily at the thing, only to hear a response from downstairs of "Ubuntu has near instant start up!"

"Shut up, loser!" he called back down and Wanda laughed, going off to do...whatever it was she did. Girl things, he guessed. His computer finally loaded up, and he gave a sigh of relief. Time to do  _anything_ but homework.

 _Just_ as a tumblr he was certainly not supposed to click through the I-Am-Over-18 button loaded on his screen, the tinny sounds of a midi Dark Side of the Moon started to chime from his bedside table. He groaned, quickly grabbing the phone and flipping it open.

 "Pizza Hut, can I take your order please? Special on sausage today."

"Pietro."

He rolled his eyes at the voice at the other end of the line.

"Hi, Erik," he said. He heard a disappointed sound at the other end of the line.

"Is it still so hard to call me 'father?'" Erik asked, and Pietro nodded. Like hell; he'd gone fourteen years not knowing the guy, just because he'd been forced to hang at his house the last couple didn't mean he was going to start calling him "Daddy."

"Fine,  _vaaaaaater,_ " he droned, scrolling through various porn gifs. Daddy was reserved for some hot piece of ass, that's for sure.

"Pietro," the man sighed. 

"What's going on anyway, dad-guy?" Pietro said impatiently.  _Damn_ , that one looked a bit like LeBeau. That would be an interesting thing to think about tonight.

"Charles and I decided to take the evening off; a friend of his is opening a new restaurant in the city tonight, and we figured we'd stay over and..."

"Check out ladies' night, drink some appletinis, yeah. I get the idea. So you aren't coming home tonight?"

"...well, no. We may actually make a bit of a weekend out of it, so you and Wanda have some time to yourselves."

"We are going to  _empty_ your liquor cabinet." He smiled as he heard the man chuckle.

"Make sure to start with Charles' whisky," Erik said, and Pietro couldn't help but start laughing at the indignant, muffled sounds he heard coming from his stepfather.

"Got it, the 25 first." He clicked through to the next page in another tab. He paused, for his own time; in reality, there was no way that Erik would have noticed the hesitation before Pietro added, "Have a nice time, dad."

"We will. You and Wanda stay safe."

"Thanks." 

Pietro flipped his phone shut, shoving the computer off his lap and dashing out the door and to the top of the stairs. He grinned as he called down:

"Wanda, guess what? We get Baconators tonight!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Pietro is a hipster POS with a flip phone he's had since 2006.


	3. Friday, September 5th: After School in the Cookery Lab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long; moving back to America from Scotland!  
> But hey, porn.

Remy glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. He had finished with the standard grade home ec class a good ten minutes ago, and that kid still was nowhere to be found.

It was a Friday. He should be already in his car, maybe driving to the city, having a nice night out, gamble a little, drink a little, maybe pick a fight or pick up a girl or two. A man of his talents had no business waiting around for his boss' brat.Still, he supposed, it was worthwhile; why else become a teacher than to help out kids and improve their lives above his own fun?

Damn, was he getting old.

It was about then that Pietro _walked_ into the classroom, giving a little wave. The little...

"Hey there Mr. LeBeau I hope I didn't make you wait too long," he said without a breath. 

"'Nuff that I'm tempted to make you come here again on Monday. Sit."

"I'd rather stand to be honest, sir," Pietro said, leaning against the demonstration table at the front of the classroom and jittering his foot. "Sitting makes me  _antsy_. Side effect of the condition or whatever."

Remy nodded, willing to let the indignation pass for the sake of keeping things as smooth as possible. Besides, for all he knew the kid wasn't lying; mutations were known to cause all sorts of issues, especially in young people who hadn't quite managed to understand themselves and their powers yet.

"Anyway. I've been talking with your other teachers, including your father..." An audible groan. Remy coughed and continued. "And you just don't seem to be on track with any of your courses. This don't have to be a punishment, boy. I'm here to help you."

"Yeah, yeah. You gave me the spiel yesterday when you sentenced me to stay back alone with you on a Friday. I know, I know." Pietro twirled a strand of hair on his finger with tangible boredom.

 "Mr. Maximoff," Remy said, crossing his arms, "I don't want to make this a problem. I'm just _concerned_ about your progress."

"Yeah, well, you have no need to be."

 "As your teacher, I think I rightly do, Pietro." He leaned against the wall. "I just want to make sure that you're really getting everything out of your life that you're being offered. You're young, have opportunities..."

"Really, Mr. LeBeau, is this all necessary?" Pietro asked, jumping up on the demonstration table and kicking his legs. "I mean really. What's the good of putting me in detention? It's not like just making me sit around is going to make me a better cook; hell, I don't want to be a cook, there's no point to it, and don't give me another detention for saying that, I just won't show up, and you won't be able to make me because I'm sure that Erik would feel fine making up for fourteen years of child abandonment for having one teacher sacked for harassing his kid."

Remy simply stared at the boy with dark disgust at his run-on sentence.

"Besides," Pietro said, flipping about so he was lying on the table, stomach pressed against the counter, "can't I just do some extra credit or something?" He laughed a bit to himself. "Ahaha, extra credit. Oh, Mr. LeBeau, whatever could I do to get my grades up, please? I'll do things your girlfriend won't do so I can get that A." He rolled onto his back with a smirk, pulling up his Suzi Quatro t-shirt to show off his stomach. "I'll do anything, mistah."

Remy rolled his eyes and was about to tell the boy off when he popped up, tugging at the teacher's mauve tie until their faces were an inch apart.

"Anything."

Now, something took over that man. He had no idea what was going through his head that made him think it was a good idea, as it was one of the most terrible, irresponsible, reprehensible things he could possibly do as a man in power, yet Remy found himself leaning forward and locking lips with a pale-haired boy half his age. He pulled away from the boy quickly, putting his hands on Pietro's shoulders and preparing himself to apologize profusely and beg for word not to leak of what had just happened.

He found himself surprised by the expression on Pietro's face. It wasn't one of the horror he was expecting. The kid honestly looked...needy? Desperate somehow? It was an uncomfortable look, one that Remy only saw when he was putting a girl far too inebriated for her own good in a cab to her apartment rather than accepting her invitation into a bathroom stall. Still, this sober teenage boy was staring at him with an expression of utter need for touch, for some belief in affection being shown to him. It made Remy's heart ache somewhat to see him like this. A part of him almost wanted to just hug him now; he had a feeling the kid really hadn't gotten hugged enough as a child.

Before he could do anything though, there were arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him heavily on top of the desk as Pietro crushed their lips together. He was stronger than he looked, Remy had to give him that. He wasn’t exactly a bad kisser; maybe a little rough around the edges, but Remy could tell the kid had probably been doing this for a fair amount of time.

Shit. He should not be thinking that. He should be getting out of there, shoving the kid’s detention at someone else, drinking at home far away from any little German boys.

Instead he let Pietro expertly shove his tongue inside his mouth, grabbed the boy’s shaggy hair in his hand, pressed his hand harder against his shoulder. Pietro moaned into his mouth, seemingly enjoying it from how the boy’s hands were undoing Remy’s trousers faster than he could say no.

He still had the decency to pull away then, an unexpected whimper coming from the teenager’s throat.

“No, ch...Pietro. That’s not…”

“Mr. LeBeau, please.” The plea seemed genuine, accompanied by Pietro chewing his bottom lip and his brows furrowing hard. Every part of Remy's mind was screaming different commands at him. On the one hand, this was his student. Even if it weren't for the fact he hadn't fucked an eighteen year old in the past ten years, there was the simple fact that he was his teacher. An adult that the students, much like this one, should look up to and trust. But god, the way he fidgeted and clung to the fabric of his brown sport coat, that bright pink flush lighting up pale skin...

He would definitely need to go to confession later.

He found himself rationalizing as he let out a defeated sigh and pulled himself back down over the boy, kissing him back ferociously. Maybe this is what he needed. Maybe he needed human contact from a trusted adult. He would never tell Erik to his face, but he knew that the absence of a father could put a hideous hole in someone's heart.

_Ew. No. Backpedal those thoughts._

It wasn't hard for him to wipe the thoughts away as Pietro pushed him back off before ripping off that terrible tee and throwing it on the stove top. Far from hygienic, but there was no way that Remy would complain, not with the boy grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand directly against the boy's crotch.

Pietro licked his lips, using his teacher's hand to rub through the fabric of his jeans before letting the man's wrist go. Back to getting those disgusting khakis off of him. Khakis. For a teacher as hot as LeBeau, he would have thought the man would dress it down a little, not look so stereotypically...teacher...y. _Fuck._ There were no words really. Just LeBeau _really_ knowing how to get a rise out of a guy.

Pietro's hips rocked up into Remy's hand, wiggling his white brows at the teacher when they made brief eye contact. Those black and red eyes of his looked so torn. It really just made Pietro giddy to see a grown man reacting like that to _him_.

Remy found himself pulling down the boy's jeans like his hands had a mind of their own. His breaths were already growing heavy with longing a his eyes darted around Pietro's hips. He had already been able to tell from the feel of it, but the sight of the boy's cock pressing needily against the tight fabric of red-and-yellow briefs made his own trousers seem overly tight. Relief came quickly in the form of Pietro whipping off the man's belt and tossing it to the side, shoving his teacher's trousers and boxers to mid-thigh in a fluid motion.

"Damn, Mr. LeBeau, you are happy to--" Pietro was shut up by overly-rough lips against his, teeth nipping at the corner of his mouth. He moaned and grabbed at the desk with one hand, pulling the teacher's hips towards his own with the other. As soon as their mouths parted, his eyes started flickering between Remy's face, his hand, and their cocks, as if his mind was running too fast to form verbal language. Remy gulped and nodded. Legally, he figured, there was no going back from what was happening now, so he may as well. Not taking his eyes off of his student, he groped blindly around the counter until he managed to find a small bottle of olive oil. A part of him admired the irony that the budget decided to spring for Extra Virgin.

Pouring a little into his hand, his face got serious.

"As your [PSE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Personal_and_Social_Education) teacher, I have to say this is not the best optio--"

"Shut up and do it, Mr. LeBeau," Pietro growled, his hips jolting up violently. Remy chuckled, daring to lean forward to whisper in the boy's ear.

"Now, cher," he said, putting down the bottle and hooking his thumb in the boy's waistband, "wouldn't it be good to listen to your teacher?" He could feel Pietro shiver under him, practically vibrating. He grinned, wrapping his wet hand around their cocks and slowly sliding his hand up their lengths.

"That's a good boy," he whispered, pulling back a little so he could look at Pietro again, letting the panting, sweaty, youthful form fill his view and burn into his mind. Damn, it felt good, having him whimpering there, their bodies so close. He found himself close to laughing again as he saw Pietro trying to claw at the wood table top, trying desperately to grab onto something as he rocked his hips roughly into Remy's hand. The man took it as a sign to move his hand faster, letting his own vision start to cloud with the pleasure of heat and friction.

Barely a few pumps in, Pietro's eyes squeezed shut and he let out a high-pitched moan. Remy could feel the boy's cock twitch against his as a string of cum shot out, coating a few of his fingers. Remy had to bite his lip to avoid damaging fragile young self esteem with a comment on how "fast" he was.

His avoidance turned out to be unneccesary, though, as before he would have had the chance to say anything, Pietro was sitting up halfway on the counter, balancing himself with his left arm as he pushed Remy's hand off his cock and replaced it with his own. Looking straight into his teacher's eyes, he started stroking fast, smiling as well as he could while still panting desperately. It wasn't long before Remy was pulling their mouths together again, grunting softly as he came on Pietro's stomach.

He pulled away slowly, eyes half lidded, and wiped the mess off with his clean hand. He thought about apologizing for it, but the swirling mix of afterglow and guilt kept him silent. Instead, he simply turned to the sink to rinse off his hands.

Pietro hopped off the counter, swearing under his breath as he tried to catch himself on weak knees. Remy chuckled a little as the kid blinked, trying to reorient himself. Finally, he seemed capable of grabbing his discarded clothes and properly standing upright.

“...So can we say that...the whole row-uks thing is over with?” Pietro said, slipping his shirt back on over his head. Remy zipped up his trousers, brow furrowed.

“The what?”

“The row-uks I fucked up. Can we like, nix the F?”

“...The roux.”

“Yeah, that.”

Pietro apparently took Remy’s dumbfounded stare as a yes, as he clicked his tongue with a grin and a pair of finger guns. The last thing Remy heard as a blur appeared in his vision was a doppler-fading “Thanks, Mr. LeBeau!”

This was shit.

 

 


	4. Monday, September 8th: After School in the Teacher's Lounge

"This is shit."

"Come on, man, that's no way to take it," Scott said, putting up two fingers to the bartender. The woman behind the counter promptly brought over two more glasses of bourbon on the rocks, and he nodded his head in thanks. "I'm sure whoever you regret sleeping with so badly isn't going to be that much of a life ruiner for you."

"If only you knew," Remy grumbled, picking up the glass and waving it absently. He had spent the last three godforsaken days mulling over the whole detention incident. He couldn't forgive himself; this was just one line he crossed that he couldn't rationalize at all. God, he was the lecherous old man fucking students for grades. This was never supposed to happen. There was a time when he was young and happy and flashing dirty money and hot watches and all that. Why he ever got bit by some moral bug and decided to go straight to teach, he would never know. It's not like he couldn't have gotten himself out of jail easily if he had ever actually been thrown in. Hell, it may have given him some extra street cred. But no, of course, even when he decided to go on the straight and narrow, he had to fuck it up. He hadn't stolen anything [expensive] or blown up anything [important] in the last four years he'd spent up in the godforsaken north, but then some beautiful, big-eyed trick of a boy had to go ruining his clean slate.

At least Scott didn't seem bothered, letting him vent and sipping strong liquor alongside him. Granted, between the math teacher's advances towards Jean in Psychology and his overly intensive coaching of the cheer squad, maybe it made a bit of sense. But beyond a bit of an obsessive vibe, Scott was good people--a little boring at times, but very stuck on leading and making his colleagues and students succeed. Not the worst person to drink with when brooding over things.

Damn, this was an unusual teacher's lounge.

He knew he'd never really understand why the hell Erik and Charles decided to have this bizarre strip-club vibe to the teacher's lounge. No, that was wrong...there was no  _ vibe _ involved. There was legitimately a girl spinning around on a pole in the back of the room, he was sitting at a mahogany bar, he was having drinks bought for him for god's sake. Ah, his maman and papa would be so ashamed of him right now for taking such a job.

Well, you know, if they hadn't ditched him in the hospital and all.

He couldn't help but wonder if his time at this bizarre institution had done something to him. But no, he had to think his time skulking around Bourbon Street as a youth was likely worse than most anything he was partaking in now; hell, the dancer was seen here as a tasteful presentation of the erotic arts, and more importantly, he wasn't the one spinning around onstage.  _ That was an interesting summer. _ Still, proper teacher and that though he might have been, many of his past vices cleared and wiped away, that Friday was still hanging hideously in his mind.

“Scott,” he said slowly, and the man looked over. Well, he assumed he did; it was always hard to tell what with the Ed Hardy shades. “Have you ever found yourself having...indecent desires for a student?”

“I swear my relationship with my girls is strictly professional,” Scott said, throwing his glass back hard enough his bangs almost flew off his head. Remy blinked.

“What?”

“I take my position as cheer coach incredibly seriously, and I wouldn't dare have any sort of contact with one of my girls,” he said, looking across the room. “Oh, hey there, _Jean!_ ”

The red-headed guidance counselor looked over with a smile and a wave. In all fairness, she was more than just a counselor—she did have a medical doctorate and taught the occasional Intro to Psychiatry class, if there was demand—but in general the poor psychic was used to being the being on whom all her coworkers and students bared their problems.

“Hey, Jean, I was just telling Remy here there was _no way_ I'd be sleeping with the head cheerleader. Tell him I'm right.”

Jean smiled and backed away back to her table with the short, hirsute History professor.

“Oh, that girl. I swear, one of these days...”

“I t'ink she be seeing the Wolverine,” Remy said, motioning over to their table as the woman laughed at what was presumably a joke from the half-smiling Canadian.

“No, no way. Not Logan. Me and Jean went to school together. We've always had a thing.”

“Well, it seems her interests may be waning, little rabbit. You ought to really be trying to run back to her more.” 

“Weren't we talking about your weekend escapade anyway?” Scott said, motioning as if to lower his glasses in scorn. Lucky for the sake of the building, he had the sense not to.

“...Really, I don't think there's much left to talk 'bout,” he said, putting his now-empty glass back down and grabbing up his overcoat. “It ain't gone happen again.” It was true, there was no way he'd let himself give into that again. Whatever madness had overcome him in that classroom, it was banished to the back corners of his mind. 

No way in hell would he sleep with Pietro Maximoff again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [If you haven't watched China IL, please do.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywkHKjTpt-Q)


	5. Friday, September 5th: Night-time in Lorna's Bedroom at House Magnus

"No way in hell am I  _ not  _ sleeping with Mr. Lebeau again."

Wanda snorted, tapping with a stylus at the handheld device in front of her. Lorna paused while braiding her sister's undercut to lift a fading green eyebrow.

"I'm glad that breaking the law made you such a happy man," she said, and Pietro rolled his eyes.

“I don't need your judgements, Lorna. It's not as if you're not getting up to less than savory things yourself.”

“Hey, selling to Mr. Summers and frick-fracking my home-ec teacher are _way_ different things,” she scoffed, grabbing a pink bobble and tying up the end of her older sister's hair. She looked back at her brother and a tiny smirk formed on her face. “Though, I guess you have to spill the beans about how it was.”

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.”

“You're no gentleman, Pietro,” Wanda said, poking her twin with the stylus and giving him a wink. He threw a pillow at her face in response.

“Shut up, Witch!”

“Come on, Quickie, when'd you gain sensibilities?”

“Stop throwing my pillows, I swear to god,” Lorna grumbled, levitating her phone by its metal case into her hands. She flicked through the messages absently. “Besides, I told you when I hooked up with Alex.”

“Thank god it was before he was eighteen, or you'd be as illegal as him,” Wanda said with a smile. “He still likes you, you know.”

“Yeah, but I'm not going to go get him kicked out of his frat before he can even rush for statutory,” she said with a little smile, taking a selfie quickly with Wanda's braid in her hand. “I know my limits, unlike Peter Peter Penis Eater.”

“Lebeau's gorgeous and worth getting thrown into the infamous iron container for,” Pietro said, clasping his hands dramatically over his heart before laughing. “Besides, it's not like they could catch me. I could zip away from the police faster than they could calculate the age difference.”

“From what I've seen of him from Erik and Charles bringing people over, I guess I'd have to agree,” Lorna said, and Wanda nodded.

“He's a good man at heart. Pietro and I both have him for homeroom. I honestly think if you _have_ to go off with a ridiculous love affair, he's not the worst one to run off with. _Still_ , can't you wait until maybe you're not his student or something?” She put her hand on her twin's cheek, stroking it softly. “It's not really a good idea.”

{I am not sure if the relationship you three are discussing is truly practical, but it seems as if Quicksilver would receive strong emotional benefits from pursuing it.}

Lorna and Pietro looked a little confused as Wanda scowled at her handheld.

“Vision. Really.”

“Was that...” Lorna asked, peering at the screen. Blinking back up at her was a brightly colored avatar with red skin and clad in green. It's eyes angled a bit towards her, then Wanda.

{This is your sister Lorna, correct?} he asked, and she nodded, turning the device slowly towards Lorna.

“Yes, she's Lorna. And this,” she tipped it towards Pietro, “is the boy we're all talking about.”

{Ah, Pietro looks like his voice made him sound,} the avatar said, nodding. Pietro's lip raised slightly.

“Wanda. Why is your gameboy talking to me.”

Wanda opened her mouth to answer, but the device interrupted.

{I am Vision, a synthetic AI organizational, entertainment, and companion system owned by sweet Wanda,} he said plainly, and Wanda coughed.

“I'd appreciate if you don't speak over me,” she said, placing the device down and glaring at it. Vision looked...somewhat apologetic.

{Apologies,} the mechanized voice said, before the avatar turned back to look at Pietro. {I encourage caution when working with this relationship, because from the data I've ascertained from my past conversations with Wanda, you are both overly impulsive and in desperate need of the type of relationship I can tell you want by analyzing your vocal patterns.} Vision smiled at Pietro's confused face, the image seeming to almost convey sympathy. {I am unsure I can ever understand 'love' as a human concept, but I can understand the issues of attraction between two beings that should not under normal circumstances be together. It is with that that I wish you both luck and safety in your exploits, should you choose to pursue them.}

“...Thank you,” Pietro said, some of the slowest words he had ever uttered in his life. There was an awkward silence as the two unaware siblings stared at the seemingly sentient handheld.

“...Well,” Wanda said, slowly picking up the system and clutching it to her, “this slumber party seems to have ground to a screeching halt.”

“Your gameboy talks,” Pietro said, mind whirring to try to process. Lorna hopped up with a sigh, brushing herself off.

“I'm going to go get popcorn,” she started, “and if by the time I'm back up here we're still talking about this and the TV screen does not have the main menu of Batman on it, you're all kicked out of my room.”*

 


	6. Tuesday, September 9th: Between First and Second Period

Slow. Slow slow  _ _slow.__ Why oh  _ _why__  did students insist on moving like such glaciers between classes, clogging up the hallway so he couldn't even run properly? Pietro could've been where he needed to be in milliseconds, but at this rate he'd be  _ _unintentionally__  late for German class, and it wouldn't do to have Erik annoyed at him for a  _ _good__  reason.

But he had to make sure he ran by Lebeau's office today. Somehow that asshat of a teacher had managed to avoid him the entirety of Monday, even dodging conversation in homeroom. His speed at running away from his problems Pietro had to find a little admirable, but he still found himself growing progressively more annoyed as he played the obstacle course to the cookery lab.

He almost thought he saw the man go pale when his black and red eyes latched onto him, but Pietro knew there was no way his presence could be _that_ upsetting to his teacher.

“Mr. Lebeau, hi--”

“Mr. Maximoff, I have thirty fourteen-year-olds I got to teach not to burn toast, I don't have time for this,” Remy said, his voice somewhat more halting than normal.

“I promise, I'll be _fast_ ,” Pietro said, and Remy couldn't quite hold back a snort of laughter. Pietro grinned. “There we go. You're so much more handsome when you smile.”

“Pietro...”

“Look, I got to get to German to pretend I don't know an arschloch from arsenvergiftung, I'm in a rush too. So I'll say this fast.” Pietro put a finger against his teacher's lips; Remy felt tempted to bite it. “Shh shh shh. All I wanted to say is that if detention is like Friday was, you can bet _I'm acting up a hell of a lot more._ ” He paused a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked over Remy's face for a change of expression. Nothing. _Come on, Mr. Lebeau, that was at least worth getting some bedroom eyes and a quip back from you._

He sighed, taking his finger away. “So yeah. Third period today, right? I think I just might mistake a teaspoon for a cup of salt in whatever roadkill we're cooking up today.” Nothing, not the slightest rise. Pietro looked at Remy in mild disgust. _Jesus_.

“Right. See you after lunch, or whatever,” Pietro said before zipping away.

Remy waited until the boy was out of sight before he let out a hard breath and lowered his shoulders. _That little son of a bitch._ He could tell how much he was trying to rile him up, he _knew_ this was going to end terribly. This would be worse than that time with the nun. Or the time with his boss' wife. Or that time with...

_Ey Remy, stop that now, you hear? Ain't no good coming in thinking like that._

He shook his head. The freshmen. Right, they'd take his mind off of the brat he knew he couldn't avoid in a few hours. He walked into the classroom, seeing the ghost of Pietro lounging on the demonstration table, all soft skin and constrained moans. He squeezed his eyes together to get rid of the thought. Non. Not right now. Get rid of the thoughts of how good he looked, how nice he felt, how he almost sounded like he actually _wanted_ it to happen again. Damn, in any other world he'd be taking that boy home at the end of the day, but there was no way he could abuse his power like that. Non. No matter how good he'd look fucked into the mattress, face buried in a pillow, panting his name and talking about what a naughty boy he'd been--

_No. This is a time for baking cookies, not fantasizing_ .

Still. It was a hell of a nice image.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny tiny update, I know. Things have been stressful and I haven't been able to make myself write enough. Next chapter will be essentially chapter 6.5 though, as this just leads to later in the day :0 I just wanted to get this out before I forgot.


	7. Tuesday, September 9th: Third Period

«You actually seem like you  _ _tried__ today.» Pietro clicked his tongue at Kurt's snide German as they rinsed their cupcake trays in the sink

«Maybe I have finally gained the joy of baking you have, ma'am,» Pietro said, and the blue boy laughed, tail flicking. He put the tray away in the washing rack, snatching Pietro's from his hand and putting it away as well.

«I actually started baking for a girl too, you know,» Kurt said.

«Oh please. I'm not playing little miss domestic like you are,» Pietro scoffed. «And though it's nice you have your little Bavarian bakery plans that seem to please our weird-ass extended family, I'm pretty sure your 'baking for a girl' was just because Kitty can't bake for shit.»

«What can I say, muffins can speak words that the mouth dare not.»

«Words like 'get the ever-loving hell out of the kitchen.'»

The two laughed, pushing each other as they went back to their table. As per normal, Kurt's cupcakes looked like some heavenly delicacy, whereas the clumsy swirl of chocolate frosting was slowly sliding off of Pietro's.

«How the hell are you so good at this,» Pietro grumbled, and Kurt gave a thin smile.

«When you're blue and fuzzy and make people scream when they see you in the street, you have to learn to be very good at _something_ to give yourself some value to the public.» He rearranged the non-graded cupcakes in their takeaway tray. After a few moments of discomfort, he looked back at Pietro. «So who is it?»

Pietro looked at Remy, who was inspecting the display cake of a trembling Mortimer, and Kurt's golden eyes grew wide.

“You dog!” he said, smacking the other boy's arm with his tail. «Have you been hanging out with Emma or something?»

“Shut up, you dweeb,” Pietro said, pulling the tail in retaliation. “As if I...” «As if I'd go grade-hunting like her. Not that I don't admire her style, but still.»

«Well, if you want to impress him, I'd recommend you try frosting your cupcakes _after_ they cool.» Kurt smiled at the teacher as he came up to inspect their displays. “ _Guten tag_ , Mr. Lebeau. Wonderful class, as always.”

“I hope you two kids ain't gossipin' too much,” he said with a slight laugh, writing on his pad as he looked over the pastries. His eyes avoided Pietro's, but he gave a nod as he gently pushed up the side of the icing. “You're improving, Maximoff. Maybe you should sit with Wagner more often.”

Pietro practically beamed.

«Och, Pietro has a boyfriend, Pietro has a boyfriiiiend,» Kurt teased as soon as Remy moved on. «Good thing you're in senior year. You can probably actually date him when you graduate, from what I've heard about Mr. Lebeau's standards outside of the classroom.» He walked two fingers along the table, making his point clear.

«You're acting like I haven't already,» Pietro said, and Kurt looked puzzled.

“What?” he asked, just in time for the bell to ring. Kurt cursed under his breath. “Scheiße, I have business management now. You?”

“Free period. Lucky me already had Physics and German today.”

«Maybe we could hang out after school today? You're in the city this week, yes?»

«Yeah, I'm with mom, but tomorrow would honestly be better if you're up for it,» Pietro said, looking over at Remy cleaning up the demo table. Kurt looked between them and it seemed to click.

«Right, I hear you! If you want to skip out on last period tomorrow, we'll head down early. Bet I can teleport faster than you can run.»

“As if, you plebeian.”

«Haha! Have fun boinking your husband,» Kurt said, a single pelvic thrust to accentuate his point before he _bamf_ -ed away in a cloud of brimstone.

Pietro shook his head and walked up to the demonstration table, leaning himself over it. He waited for Remy to take notice of him, finally clearing his throat to get his attention.

“Ahem.”

“Don't you have a class to be gettin' to?” Remy asked, throwing the last icing bag in the trash. Pietro shook his head.

“Free period. And as I so happen to know, _you_ don't have a class to teach right now either. You'd probably just be wandering to the teacher's lounge to drink with whatever other lonely sap is in there before resigning yourself to spending an evening in your office grading freshmen papers on how to boil water.”

Remy frowned. “It's not as grim as you try to make it sound, cher.” He hoped the boy didn't notice the word slip out of his mouth, but that grin said otherwise.

“Still, it could be more exciting.” He grabbed the teacher's hand. “Go out with me.”

“Look, Pietro,” Remy said, his voice lowering, “that's not a thing that I...we can really do. You have to understand, with me being a teacher and--”

“Nice to know that's your only protest,” Pietro quipped. “But that's not what I meant. Let's just get out of here. If anyone talks, fuck, you've known Charles how long? You're just 'helping his rogue stepson.' Sort of like how you helped with detention.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows quickly. “No big deal. No one would think twice if you said that. Come on. Let's go out.”

* * *

 

Remy didn't know how he actually let the boy talk him into this.

The white-haired little menace was leaning over the table, licking his blueberry cheesecake cone slowly, as if there were actually anything erotic about the little creamy drip sliding from his lip gently to his chin. Remy couldn't help but find it slightly gross, and tried to occupy himself with thoughts of the daquiri ice in his waffle bowl.

_Sweet, deceptively non-alcoholic sorbet._

“So, Mr. Lebeau. Do you appreciate my lack of burning your assignments lately?” Pietro asked, wiping the dribble away from his mouth and sucking it off his finger. Remy coughed to clear his mind.

“It hasn't been long since the last fire in class, but I have to say, you have shown great enthusiasm to improve since Thursday. Still, I'm not sure if pulling the ability to bake a basic batch of basic cupcakes out of thin air is really highers quality, so I'm hoping to see your work improve even further.”

“I promise I'll toil long hours over a stove just for you, darling husband of mine,” Pietro said with an eyeroll.

“Really, though. We're extending with experimental flavoring next class, I want you to make sure you keep an eye on the ovens for whatever horror you decide to think up. And before you take that as a jab,” he said as Pietro's mouth opened in protest, “I'd expect nothing less of you, as I'm sure you have the creativity to even make terrifying ingredients work well somewheres down in that fast-thinking head of yours.”

He tried to look positive, but the boy simply stared at him. They sat in silence while eating for a few moments before Pietro finally slammed down his free hand. Remy jumped, almost dropping his spoon.

“I asked for a date. What is this, really.” He glared into Remy's eyes, and the teacher sighed. He pushed the bowl away a bit and leaned back in his chair, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and rubbing in frustration.

“Look, cher, if you weren't a student, I weren't a teacher, I got to say. There's a pretty good chance I would take you up on that there offer, but n'est bien pas.”

Remy didn't like that slow smile forming on the boy's face.

“So you're saying that if it weren't for the sake of our 'work relationship' you'd be _more_ than happy to get involved with a guy like me.”

“Don't want you getting the wrong idea, but I can't say it never would have happened. Hell, it may happen in the future some day, but right now the amount of talk...”

“Are you serious. We're both mutants, _obviously_ queer, and you're worried about people looking down on us for that.”

“Words mean nothing from the boy asking someone to commit statutory.” Remy shot a glance over at the thankfully-unstaffed counter. Pietro looked over and shook his head.

“Don't worry if she comes back out. She's one of Emma's friends, trust me. Non-issue.” He took a bite of his cone. “Right, fine, so it's a legal thing, not a propriety thing. Guess I get it, especially seeing the rumors of your career before Charles came and picked you up here.”

“Exactly. Jail is a thing I'd rather avoid.”

If it was possible, Pietro's grin grew wider.

“So it's settled then, we'll keep it on the down low.”

“That is _not_ what I said,” Remy stated, though his shifting in his seat betrayed his interest. Pietro continued.

“Look, I like you, and I'm pretty sure I've seen that you like me. I'm willing to keep this quiet for the rest of the year if it'd make things work. It'd be like a game yeah a game a hell of an annoying game that is really a bitch to play but I suppose it'd be worth it for the 'points' I could score and...talking too fast. _Too. Fast._ ” He paused to breath. “We could just meet in quiet, no more dragging you to places or whatever. Nice dark places behind closed doors, huh?”

Remy couldn't help but grin slightly, feeling a bit of the thrill of a less-than-ethical past rustling somewhere deep inside him. Kid...surely that was a disrespectful way to think of Pietro, wasn't it?He was practically a man by this point. He could be drafted. He'd be paying taxes soon.

Those half-lidded bedroom eyes awaiting his response were terribly compelling too.

“You sure you okay with all this?” Remy asked, leaning in and lowering his voice. “This ain't some grades ploy or cry for help or none of that after-school special business?”

“Isn't it more exciting that way?” Pietro asked in a nonplussed drone before taking another languid lick at his ice cream cone. Remy chuckled.

“I can see a lot of me in you, bebette,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table.

“That's what I'm hoping for.”

“That's enough of that,” Remy said, struggling not to laugh. “If it's kept quiet. You can't go calling me Remy or nothing in public now.”

“Loose lips sink ships.” Pietro gently ran his fingers along the back of Remy's hand. “I'm expecting a _lot_ of office hookups to make up for this, though.”

“Pie--”

“Hey, it's fair for a guy to want to be taken to dinner and a show from time to time, you know? So if I have to give that up, I can demand to take something almost as good.”

“Don't go making a bahbin, I understand, I'd rather...” Remy paused, putting his spoon down and pushing away from the table. “It's complicated and you know it.”

“I know,” Pietro said, hopping up and running around the table in a smooth, almost humanly imperceptible motion. Leaning into Remy's ear, he whispered, “and that's why we'll finish _talking this out_ during lunch tomorrow. I'll see you in your office.”

The boy was out the door again before Remy could say a word, only a fluttering napkin with some remaining cone crumbs left of his presence.

A gaggle of teenagers came in, one of them mentioning to another the weird gust of breeze that had just gone by. A girl with long green hair looked over at Remy with a wink and a finger-pistol. He sighed and grabbed his coat.

This was the most trouble he'd gone and got into in a long time.

 


	8. Wednesday, September 10th: Lunchtime

Remy was honestly confused when he showed up at his office door and Pietro _wasn't_ already waiting there. Knowing the kid's arrogance and seeming desperation at progressing with this awkward relationship, he had thought he would be greeted with a sharp scolding for taking a hefty five minutes to get from the lab to the office. He unlocked the door, feeling a strange pang of disappointment followed immediately by amusement at the odd feeling, and stepped inside.

Remy's office, like most of the offices in the building, was a somewhat small room with oversized furniture that made it feel terribly cramped. As a result, neither he nor his officemate really cared to spend too much time there as opposed to the teacher's lounge, but he couldn't deny that it was a convenient place to have right now. After all, it wouldn't draw too much attention for a student and teacher to meet during “office hours,” and it was unlikely they'd be disturbed even if the door wasn't locked. Hell, Remy had this office for a little over two years now, and he couldn't remember who the other desk even belonged to. There was a little skull on the desk; someone in Biology? Drama? Goth History? Whatever.

He pulled a hot pink insulated lunchbox out from under his desk with a bit of a struggle and sat down to open it. It wasn't extravagant, just some salad he had tossed together with some lump crab meat and a balsamic vinaigrette, but it served pretty well and kept decently without a fridge, so he couldn't really complain.

A few bites in he heard a knock at the door.

“Maximoff? Come in.”

“My hands are a little full, Mr. Lebeau, could you get the door?” the muffled voice said on the other side, and Remy shuffled out from behind his desk with confusion. A little sense was made when he opened the door to a huge dimpled smile and two large trays of chili cheese fries with forks sticking out.

“I brought senpai his lunch,” Pietro said, pushing past Remy to plop the food down and sit on the other desk. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the chair behind the desk, and put the closer meal on his lap.

“From what I know, kid, I'm your sensei, not senpai,” Remy said, flipping the lock on the door. Pietro raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and I thought I was supposed to be treating you to a celebratory relationship meal,” Pietro said, looking quickly back over to Remy's desk. “The hell is that? Do you not appreciate me slaving over a hot fast food counter to buy you a lunch made with _love_?”

“You could have told me yesterday if you didn't want me to throw together leftovers,” Remy said, reaching to take one of the fries, but Pietro slapped his hand away.

“Nuh uh. You don't appreciate, they're mine now.”

Remy leaned against his desk and picked his salad back up. He eyed the boy in amusement as he started to wolf down the certainly-not-kosher snack at speeds as if he was afraid his father would waltz in at any moment.

“If you eat all that you gone get fat,” Remy said, pointing his fork at the boy's food, and he shrugged.

“Fast metabolism.”

“Is anything about you _not_ fast?” Remy chuckled, taking another bite of lettuce. Pietro looked almost offended, and the insinuation fluttered through the man's brain. He shook his head. “I didn' mean what I see you thinkin' boy. Granted, you're of such an age that--”

“Not cool,” Pietro said, just a tad too on guard. Remy quickly finished up his food, pushing the bowl towards the back of the desk.

“I'll drop it then,” the teacher said, running a hand through his hair. He studied the boy in front of him, a grin playing on his lips. “It's a damn shame we stuck in this situation, you know. After all, I--”

“--am an old fart and you are an innocent babe, yeah yeah,” Pietro said, balling up the paper container and throwing it gracefully into a shared trash can. Before he could grab the second tray sitting further away from him, there was a large hand covering his.

“Actually, I was gone say it's a shame we're stuck in a little room with no room to really get to know each other, like I'm sure you were insinuating yesterday.” Remy grinned and Pietro gulped, blood rushing to too many places at once.

“So you decided you're a lot more comfortable with this entire debacle than you were before? Resplendent,” Pietro said, a goofy grin forming on his face.

“You turn into an English major when you're stressed, I see.” Remy laughed, but picked his hand up away from Pietro respectfully. Without hesitation, Pietro grabbed Remy's hand, putting it on his thigh. Not quite sure what to do next, he leaned forward, kissing his teacher with a nervousness he hadn't had since the seventh grade. Remy seemed to be responding positively, which Pietro still couldn't believe—how begrudging did the man seem about all of this the day before? And yet here he was, a hand running along his upper and inner thigh, another pressing against the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

It was _excellent_.

Pietro didn't whimper when the kiss was broken; he was too determined not to seem that weak despite the pounding in his heart and the bright flush in his cheeks. So that day in the cooking lab hadn't been a fluke, he was _actually_ managing to get what he had wanted out of the man for god knows how long. It was hard to process the thoughts as he felt the hand on his head glide down his neck, his back, and up under his shirt. With a smooth motion, Remy pulled the fabric up, tucking it into the neckline, and dropped to one knee.

Pietro chewed his lip as he watched his teacher trail kisses down his exposed stomach. The man occasional looked up, black and red eyes seeming to constantly check to make sure that the boy was enjoying himself. Every time Pietro would nod or sigh or gasp, Remy looked back down to what he was doing, sometimes a tiny curve of a smile or the slightest hint of a laugh accompanying the continued touch. He dragged his tongue around Pietro's belly button, then teeth; he let out a small moan as the boy fisted his hair desperately.

As Remy's hand made its way to Pietro's jeans, his heart suddenly jumped. He didn't know what the hell was hitting him, but there was a sudden race of nerves pouring through his chest. He fidgeted slightly and Remy looked back up.

“Mm?” The man ran his fingertips over Pietro's clothed cock, a quiet question. Pietro answered with a small shrug and a whine, trying to shove down the nerves. Satisfied, Remy went back to undoing the boy's jeans and pressing his lips to grey cotton. He could feel his cock twitch under the touch and hissed a bit, wiggling again. It's like it was all _too_ intense, he thought to himself, like every millimeter of skin that was touched had needles scraped against it. He tried to ignore it, because dear god did it feel _good_ to have a mouth wrapping around the shaft of his cock through the soft fabric, but it was simply too much.

He managed to last until Remy pulled down the waistband of his shorts to stroke the head of his cock, which made him wince with both phantom pain and the utter desire to _not_ immediately come.

“Wait, hold up, hold up a sec,” Pietro stammered, and Remy quickly pulled back.

“Something wrong, cher?”

“It's...I mean...” Pietro didn't have the words to articulate what he was feeling, but Remy nodded and rolled his chair back.

“I understand. A bit too much for right now?” Remy smiled, compassion behind his eyes. “I ain't gone jump on you too fast. We can put this aside for now.”

Pietro mumbled a response, pulling his jeans closed over his still somewhat erect cock. He glanced toward Remy, eyes darting towards the bulge in his teacher's slacks, and felt a small pang of guilt.

“Don't know what the hell came over--”

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

Pietro seemed a little shocked by the question, noting that Remy's hand was sitting next to his thigh.

“Yeah?”

With the word, Remy's hand rubbed gently along the top of Pietro's thigh. It was really weirdly comforting, he thought to himself with mild amusement.

“You actin like I'm not a gentleman who can respect a man's boundaries,” Remy chuckled. “We gone work this at whatever speed we both feel comfortable with, okay?”

“I'm not exactly known for going slow,” Pietro snarked, and he could _hear_ Remy's eyes roll.

“First time for everything,” Remy said, his hand raising off Pietro's leg and motioning to the empty chair. “Maybe we should finish our lunch before next period?”

“Yeah, that's cool.” Pietro pushed off of Remy's desk and walked around to the chair, picking his fork back up. “And, um...

“Thanks.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO it's a bit of a time chronologically til I have anything specific planned for these two...  
> Anything in particular you'd like to see from them between now and mid-October?


	9. Monday through Thursday, October 6th-9th: Around and About the Academy

Life had been pretty hectic over the weeks since. Every once in a while, the two would find time for a quick tryst to an unused classroom or supply closet, but between Remy’s classes scaling up in necessary preparations and Pietro being forcibly pulled into drama for his speedy stage assistance, the two found their priorities lying with actual work over illicit relationships.

It was with this expectation in mind that Remy looked with confusion at the white haired boy running towards him, a blur of hyperactive teen and piles of cloth.

“HeyMrLebeauIwaslookingfor...I was looking for you,” he said, remembering the chastisement he had gotten not long ago for his overly rapid curses to most existent religious figures. “They can’t hear you if you talk so fast,” Remy had said, laughing as Pietro had started whimpering just as fast for him to put his face back where it had just been.

“You ain’t busy right now?” Remy asked, looking over Pietro’s armfuls of material. “Sorry, cher, but I don’t have time free for ‘tutorials’ right now.”

Pietro’s head shook rapidly enough that Remy swore the boy had three faces.

“Nonono, I just wanted to ask you a question.” His face was suddenly serious. “Halloween. You have plans?”

“Well, I normally just go out to--”

“Not this year. Party. My place. Connecticut, not New York, of course. Can’t fit everyone in Mom’s place.”

Remy hesitated, looking at Pietro quizzically.

“I’m not sure you know what you’re asking me,” he said, glancing at the kitchen down the hall. “Look, I’m late for all dem precious little kids at baking club, but I have to know you understand this right now. Think how it would look if I showed up at some party you threw.”

“Like you’re the most happening cat around? Know where a good jive is?”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Me? No, I don’t mock people.” Pietro shifted the pile in his arms. He was nervous, Remy could tell.

“It would ruin everything if I suddenly show up at your student party, you have to understand that. If I could, I would, trust me. Not to encourage bad behavior,” he said, lowering his voice, “but if you could get your hands on a fake id, theoretically, I’d happily even take you out for All Hallow’s Eve. But no, I can’t go hang out around your friends. I’m sorry.”

Pietro looked hurt, but just for a moment. He quickly blinked his face back into a neutral expression and shrugged.

“Ok, suit yourself,” he said, maneuvering around Remy. “This party is going to be amazing, though.”

“Of course it’ll be. Have a good rehearsal.”

“Have fun with cooks that are worse than me,” Pietro said, zipping down the hall.

* * *

“Oi, Remy!”

Remy turned around at the voice to see none other than one Mr. Charles Xavier wheeling down the hallway towards him. The professor was some sort of champion at wheeling at high speeds, and Remy honestly thought the stubbled, wig-wearing man was secretly in some sort of middle-aged murderball league.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Charles?” Remy asked, secretly amazed as the man’s chair came to a sudden stop next to him without the slightest sign of whiplash on the man in it. A fleeting thought of That’s where Pietro gets it from fluttered through his mind before he realized how illogical the concept was.

Charles leaned back on his wheels, rolling in place with a cheesy grin. 

"I have been missing you all day, I swear," he said, his voice tinged with a light Glaswegian accent. He dropped the chair back down, pointing at the man in front of him. "You were not in the teacher's lounge this morning. Such a pity, my friend, you missed out on the announcement."

"Announcement?" Remy could already feel his stomach sinking. Something was off about this. 

"Don't look like someone ran over your cat, Remy. It's nothing to worry about. I'm not laying people off or anything. Hell, we're still easily living off last year's grants."

"Considerin' the results of last year's Teacher Auction fundraiser, I'd sure as hell hope that we're still in the black."

"So many people will never live last spring down," Charles chuckled. "But anyway. I'm sure your class needs you about as much as I need to get my one-o-clock with Mr. Trask over with, so I'll get this out for you quickly. Erik and I decided in the name of staff bonding that we are holding a team building party on the thirty-first." His face was expectant of Remy's reaction, of which it seemed a blanched face was  _not_ the intended response. "Now what's that face about? Come now, it's been ages since everyone got out of the office. We  _just_ got a new hot tub in, hm? It'll be a blast."

"I don't suppose this..." Remy paused and shook his head. "I'm guessing you won't have Erik's children around then."

" _Actually_ , we decided to let the kids have a party as well. If kids are going to drink, they should do it at home, my mother would always say." He clapped Remy's forearm. "You'll enjoy it. I'll see you then."

* * *

Mr. Lebeau was late. The higher culinary class whispered nervously among each other. He just  _wasn't_ the sort of person who came out late like this. Someone swore he once came in hung over a couple of years ago, mumbling about an incident involving a nun and having the class just watch DVDs of Good Eats. It was the middle of the week though, he couldn't be hung over. Maybe he was in the hospital. Maybe he  _died_.

As the door clicked open everyone gasped, followed by a sigh of relief at the appearance of the teacher. So they weren't being informed of their professor's death. Good. The look on his face, however, was deadly. Remy walked to the demonstration table, slapped a pile of papers down, and looked at the class. 

"Theory day, kids. I want you all to pair up and go over these worksheets on food proteins. I'll be back to go through it in a minute." He pointed an accusatory finger at Pietro in the back of the room. "Maximoff. I need to speak with you privately outside." 

The class quietly  _ooo_ ed as the boy got out of his seat, his face aching from the grin stretching across his face. 

«Och, enjoy your spanking,» Kurt called after them with a laugh, and Pietro flipped him off as the door shut behind them.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Pietro asked calmly, leaning against the door. Remy rubbed his temples. The boy was smirking. He was definitely aware.

“You know your stepfather just ‘invited’ me to a mandatory party for staff this Halloween at his house?” he asked, and Pietro’s eyes went wide with false surprise.

“Heavens. Who would have thought that Charles would be so fond of Halloween and showing off his expensive real estate.”

“I know you put him up to it. I’ve taught you four years, I know you don’t even like those two. What are you playing at?”

Pietro shifted, chewing slightly at the inside of his lip. His eyes darted to the floor, not really wanting to explain himself, but he returned eye contact. Avoidance would just look weak.

“I really did want you around, you know. It’s a holiday, it might not be the biggest family-love-kumbaya holiday on earth, but I really want to spend it with people I care about, you know?” Pietro shrugged. “And now you can show up and no one will think it’s weird or anything. Hell, some of the guys’ parents might be more likely to send them over to ours, thinking that we’ll be well supervised since they don’t know what lushes they trust their kids to.”

“That’s almost touching,” Remy said, folding his arms over his chest. His shirt pulled tight along his shoulders, and Pietro couldn’t help but stare at the now-clear deltoids staring back at him. “I suppose there’s no getting out of it for me, anyway. I suppose you've won this time."

"Mm, what did I win?" Pietro asked. A quick glance around, and Remy dipped down to  kiss the boy. He lightly ran his knuckles over the boy's cheek before pulling back.

"LBV proteins. Go in, it's on the exam." He popped the boy's ass as the blonde turned for the door. "I'll see you at the party."


	10. Friday, October 31st: House Magnus

The heavy _thoom thoom thoom_ of music had been filling the house for a couple of hours now, and Pietro was getting impatient. He had to grudgingly admit that for what a “great” father Erik had been all those years, his relative unattached nature meant he was still pretty damn good at throwing a party. Good enough, in fact, that he and his stepdad were currently two sheets to the wind, wearing half of their king/queen costumes whilst lounging in a bubbling hot tub, arms around professors the boy would rather not think about having to invite to Thanksgiving if things went any further. Granted, it meant that the good third of the student body crammed into the estate would remember tonight as a beer-filled haze that would memorialize the Maximoff-Dane triad for years to come among tristate mutant teens, but as far as Pietro was concerned it was pointless if his guest of honor couldn't be there .

Halloween was a night to scream at, after all.

He sighed, walking over to the corner of the backyard to sit with African Princess Ororo, who was currently wiggling her fingers at the sky, amusing herself by making the clouds form bats and pumpkins. He scratched a little at the flowerpot near him, plucking a little white stick from the dirt.

"Lightning bolt?" He asked the girl next to him, and she sent a little electric spark to light it up with an eye roll.

_Let's make the best of this, I guess._

* * *

 The gaudy purple Challenger almost hit the car in front of it with the speed in which its driver zoomed into a parallel park.

Connecticut. Connecticut. Why did they have to live all the way the hell out here.

Remy pressed the button on his keys, the car letting out a little blip as it locked. Not that it was audible; the mini-mansion sounded like a goddamned frat party was going on inside. He rolled his eyes, slipping his keys into the pocket of his black slacks and readjusting the Foree Electric tag on his chest before walking up to the door.

He thought about ringing the bell, but like hell would anyone hear. Instead, he just pushed inside, not terribly shocked at the fact that the pressure on the door was caused by two inebriated teens making out in the most inconvenient place possible. Ridiculous.

It took a bit of pushing to get through the crowd of students. A few of them let out little cheers of hellos, and he was relatively sure that he heard a kid dressed as a crawfish scream something about how she was dressed up as him. He'd have to remember to find her and give her detention come Monday.

The place smelled a little like home. There wasn't the smell of vomit and urine of Bourbon Street, at least not yet, but he found his own teenage delinquency flooding back into his mind. Sometimes he had to admit he missed the thrills of his less up-and-up lifestyle. Sometimes he wondered if things would be  _less_ stressful if he had stayed in the game of committing crimes for a living instead of for unfortunate pleasure.

“Pete’s been looking for you.”

Remy snapped out of his trance. He turned around to see the witch dressed all in red, bursts of curly brown hair pouring from under her wide-brimmed hat. She was smiling knowingly, as was the odd little anime character on the handheld game system she had cradled in her arms.

“Oh, hi Wanda.”

“Hey, Mr. Lebeau.”

{Is this the one that your brother is always bemoaning?} the character said, causing Remy to be a bit taken aback.

“Did...is that…”

“Oh, sorry. Mr. Lebeau, Vision. He’s my cat this evening.” She grinned, and the cat ears on the avatar’s head blinked a couple of times.

{Meow. Charmed.}

“...Pleased to meet you too.” This wasn’t the oddest thing he’d seen in his employ at the Academy.

“Did you happen to see where my brother went?” Wanda asked, looking down at her game, and the avatar nodded.

{I last saw Pietro lurking outside, as far from the hot tub as he could manage.} Remy wondered why girl and avatar both seemed to grimace slightly, but he didn’t question.

“Thank you, I’ll go find him then. I’m pretty sure he’s the reason I’m here in the first place,” he said, chuckling until he noticed that the other two had joined him with far more sincerity.

{A relationship flag?}

“I would say so,” Wanda said. A shout across the room grabbed her attention and she waved over to it. “Love to help you find him, but Angelica seems to have a red solo cup with my name on it.” She wiggled her fingers and pushed through the crowds, leaving Remy to wander through in the other direction. Someone shoved a cup in his hand at some point before he managed to get to the back door, an assault of fresh breeze hitting his face.

He looked around at the crowd. So this is where most of the teachers had run off to apparently. He could see why; while the place was still loud and crowded, but between the palm lined pool, the amazingly starry sky, and of course the lack of breakable objects, it seemed like a far better place to be. A quick scan of the crowd didn’t show Pietro. Great. This quick appearance was getting far too long.

Scott was in the corner chatting up some blonde woman in a Dallas Cowboys uniform, and he contemplating cockblocking the poor guy for a laugh until he realized that the ridiculous (and somewhat inappropriate) Indian Prince costume would probably do quite enough of that for him by itself.

“Spying on Mr. Summers? That’s not nice at all,” a tattered corpse said, sliding up to Remy. Her dirty blonde wig was a bit askew, some green hair hanging out from the side. Erik’s other daughter.

“Nice zombie, Lorna,” he said, and she scoffed.

“Not a single person so far has noticed I’m not just a zombie. You’d think people would know the corpse of Kurt Cobain when they saw him.”

“Ah, right, right. Nice stubble.”

“Nice save.”

“Were you even born when Cobain was alive?” He winked and Lorna pursed her lips, torn between being offended and amused.

“...Well, whatever. While you’re staring at Mr. Summers making illegal moves on a student, you should be making yours.”

“Student?”

“It’s not that our head cheerleader is unoriginal in her costume choice; Scottieboy has boring fantasies. Emma is a psychic,” she said, gesturing at the couple again. “Look, Pietro’s practically despondent thinking that you skipped his party after he did all this for you. You are going to go talk to him by the firepit, and I am going to take out some lingering aggression on the wrong Summers by ruining his chances at ever hitting that when it is legal. The magic of parties.” She turned the man by the shoulder towards her brother’s direction before using the patio grill to slowly hover up behind them as the haunting ghoul of Seattle grunge.

A [metal orb](http://www.thefirepitcompany.co.uk/our-fireballs/the-andy-gage-collection/the-wilderness-ball/) housed the fire lighting the far corner of the yard, red and orange flames flickering around a carved forest. The little steel animals cast long shadows, mottling the warm light that was cast over the boy lying on a nearby wicker chaise lounge. Remy cleared his throat as he came closer, and the boy looked up, head moving strangely slow. The realization seemed to dawn on his face, and he almost tripped over the firepit in excitement to rush to him.

“Oh my god I was thinking you were going to just disappear on me,” Pietro said, involuntarily vibrating with excitement. Remy couldn’t help but smile at the utter light filling him, overpowering the flickering flames over his...his…

“Where on earth did your costume go?” he said, a laugh choking his words. Pietro looked at him with confusion, snapping the elastic waistband of his tiny red and yellow microshorts.

“Sexy [Flash](http://th07.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2013/154/e/8/the_flash___new_52_by_phil_cho-d67qbhw.jpg), obviously,” he said. “Can’t you see the lightning bolt on the crop top? Made it myself.”

“I have to say, you pull it off surprisingly well. It looks almost like a [movie costume](http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/186/6/2/Full_Ironette_by_Lady_Skywalker.jpg).”

“I’m assuming you put together this…” Pietro looked over Remy’s outfit, before nodding and tapping a little red stain on the man’s shirt. “Right. [You’ve got red on you](http://imageserver.moviepilot.com/shaun-of-the-dead-is-the-ultimate-zombie-comedy.jpeg?width=1280&height=1024). Nice.”

“I didn’t know where I’d be going after this, so I didn’t want anything too bulk--why the sudden long face, cher?”

“I guess I could have expected that you’d just consider this a stop along the road.” He took a step back and shrugged. “I guess you should go wave at Charles to prove you showed up before you drive off to...wherever. It’s not like you have any reason to stay around with me or anything.”

The cool tone made Remy cringe internally. He did plan on making this a relatively quick in-and-out, assumed both of his pushy hosts would have likely been a little too inebriated and social to notice when he slipped away.

"I  _did_ have this ambiguous brown substance shoved in my hands," he said, wiggling the red plastic in the air. "I can't go driving under the influence in this neighborhood."

Pietro eyed him as he chugged the contents of the glass, trying and failing to keep a smile from playing on his lips. As soon as Remy lowered the glass, grimacing, Pietro shifted and crossed his arms.

"Well, I sure as hell hope no one slipped anything in there," he said, placing his hand on his chin. "You'll have to stay with me so I can keep an eye on you, make sure none of these unethical people take advantage of a poor southern boy."

"If you're watchin' me, you're watchin' me move my ass back inside. I need vodka to wipe  _that_  out of my face."

"I could get rid of it just as well," Pietro said, pulling Remy into a kiss. Nerves danced between both of them--shadows and tree cover aside, anyone could have seen--but they both still let themselves dive into the kiss, tongues tangling and soft groans falling. 

Pietro wrinkled his nose as they pulled apart. "Shit, what the hell  _did_ they give you to drink? I've drank some shitty beer before, but that tastes like hell."

"You certainly tasted interesting yourself," Remy said, raising his brows. "Do you have..."

"Do I...? Oh, yeah. Shit, don't tell Erik. I'll be locked in the house for a week."

"And I don't doubt Charles would 'confiscate' it." Pietro laughed at Remy's knowing grin. He gestured with his head back to the flowerpot.

"I mean, if you want to share, I'll share," he said, and Remy shook his head.

"Maybe later. I still want my vodka."

* * *

Perhaps two hours later, Remy was sitting on a couch in the living room, surrounded by a gaggle of students who were all far to preoccupied in their own individual worlds. Pietro was lounging across both him and an uncomfortable pair of freshmen, the two of whom were looking like they had never so much as looked at a can of Budweiser before this day. Pietro was mindlessly flirting with them, making the girls blush every time he would say something crude. Remy had to admit that the entire display amused him to the point of wanting to take bets on which girl would run off in embarrassment first. Maybe he had allowed himself a few too many cups of vodka cola that night. He seemed to remember possibly being goaded by a gaggle of his students into kissing another professor, but for the life of him he couldn't remember  _who_. Someone with wings. Hopefully, she'd be as forgetful as he was come Monday.

One of the freshmen suddenly ran off, girlish cry turning to a nervous bark as she shifted into a chihuahua feet away from the sofa. Her friend followed after her, nervously apologizing to Pietro before calling her friend back. The boy could do nothing but laugh, clinging to his teacher's shirt as he swung his legs in front of him.

"Oh no, there go my footrests," he said with a laugh that shook his whole body. Remy was uncomfortably aware that the boy was now fully sitting in his lap. It wasn't a bad sort of uncomfortable; he had honestly almost forgotten any risk of consequences from touching his student, but it was just. The touching.  _Too much_.

He couldn't see the knowing grin on Pietro's face as the boy pressed his head into his chest, so it took him a moment to notice how  _deliberate_  the rotation of Pietro's hips seemed to be.

Gently, he pushed Pietro off of him and onto the sofa. Pietro just stared at him, expression some mix of anger and amusement.

"Something wrong, Mis-ter Le-beau?" he said, practically  _purred_. Remy leaned back, crossing his legs quickly. He swore he saw the boy's eyes move down for a millisecond, yet they seemed locked on his own.

"Don't suppose you could get me another drink, Maximoff?" he said, trying to keep his voice professional. It came out sounding like fake pompousness.

"I  _could_ , my lord Lebeau, but methinks you should mix your own beverages," he said. Still, he stood up, brushing off his bare thighs. "I can go get you something anyway. The question is, do you want it here?"

"Where on earth else would I want it, at school?"

"I could deliver it to my room, right above our heads." He leaned forward, whispering, "The one with the lock on its door."

There was only a moment's hesitation as Remy felt a sharp pang of pain radiate between his legs.

“Upstairs. Now.” 


	11. October 31st: Pietro's Room

Remy never got his drink.

He was more than okay with that, however. He was far happier to have Pietro's thighs around his ears instead.

 

Pietro had the key out as they had rushed up the stairs. They were inside with the door locked within seconds, and then it was a flurry of scratches and kisses as the two drunkenly clawed at each other. They tripped over each others' feet as they stumbled to Pietro's bed, falling on the rough cotton of his steel blue comforter without a care. Pietro struggled with Remy's tie as the man lay on top of him, kissing rough enough to bruise the boy's lips. Eventually he gave up, shoving the man up off of him and trying to unbutton his shirt instead. Remy threw the shirt and tie off and grabbed Pietro's waist, effortlessly rolling them both over so that the boy was on top of him. Pietro was, to say the least, a  _bit_ alarmed at the sudden rough movement, but he simply melted into the kisses covering his shoulders.

Pietro was about to take off what little he had of a top when Remy placed a hand on his arm haltingly. His tongue ran along his lower lip involuntarily.

"I told you it looked good on you, didn't I? Keep the costume on."

Pietro grinned, chest filled with pride. He  _did_ look good, didn't he? Still, he kept the fabric slightly rolled up, logo obscured by tight, rumpled red fabric, the very bottoms of his nipples exposed. Remy seemed to approve, judging by the nips and licks he made along the border of the fabric before pulling back to reposition himself. He turned away to stack up the pillows behind him, nodding a bit when he got them into a low pile. Pietro had leaned back to watch what he was doing, fingertips drawing circles over Remy's tensed stomach.

"Do you have condoms?" Remy asked, leaning over to the bedside table. Pietro instinctively grabbed at Remy's wrist, shaking his head. 

"N-no, sorry," he said. Remy looked at him suspiciously, but he didn't push the matter. 

"We have a problem then," Remy said. "I wasn't planning on needing any tonight."

"It's nice to know you at least didn't want to go fuck someone after you skipped out tonight." Pietro hesitated. "I don't mind just...not using one?" 

"That's not really a thing I'm comfortable with," Remy said. 

"Come on, it's not like I'm asking you to--"

" _Pietro_."

Pietro didn't respond, just shifting uncomfortably. Remy was almost ready to sigh and put his clothes back on when Pietro dashed quickly over to his closet and back, a wallet now in hand. He flicked it open, pulling out a little foil packet. He tossed it over to Remy, who tore it open.

"Shorts off."

Pietro was more than happy to comply, the costume growing terribly uncomfortable. Kicking them off past the tips of his boots to the side of the bed, he straddled Remy, cock standing proudly vertical. He rocked his hips along his teacher's still-clothed erection, which had Remy hiss with desire. The man took the condom, rolling it over Pietro's cock, giving the boy a couple loose jerks before pulling away. 

"Nn, don't do that, just tell me where you want me..."

Remy grabbed Pietro's bare ass tightly, pulling him up his chest. Pietro shuffled his legs alongside, looking confused at first.

"What--"

"I want you riding my face," Remy said, roughly pulling at his hips again before leaning back onto the pillows. "Hands on the headboard, cock right above my mouth." Pietro shuddered at the stern order, shifting a bit nervously. The hesitation just earned him nails digging into his flesh, dragging his hips to meet Remy's mouth. He shuddered as the man's tongue swirled around his cock, lips tightly wrapping around his flesh. He couldn't help trying to trust into that hot, wet throat, earning him a hard slap on the thigh. Remy's hand was instantly back to his hip, pulling the boy away. 

"Don't go doing that. I'm the one in charge here," Remy said, voice hushed. Pietro nodded, and found hips hips being roughly pulled back towards Remy's face. _God_ that mouth was worth the man's stupidly-high safe sex standards. He shuddered, trying desperately to stay still as Remy essentially fucked his own mouth with the boy's cock, moans vibrating down his shaft, tongue teasing at his frenulum. Every couple of "thrusts" he feel his head pass into the man's throat, muscles squeezing down around him, and he wanted to come down Remy's throat with all his being.

Pietro shuddered, the need welling up inside him more than he could stand. He couldn't stop his hips from jerking, nails on his ass drawing blood be damned. Right as white lines started spreading through his vision behind closed eyes...

Remy shoved him away.

Pietro stared at him in disbelief. His cock visibly twitched, shocked by the sudden loss of sensation, desperate for touch. He brought a still-gloved hand to jerk himself off but was reprimanded with a loud  _Non._ He whipped his hand away, a whimper escaping his throat as he watched Remy pull himself upright.

"Mon petit chou, I  _told_ you not to. You have to be punished for that." His words slurred slightly together, and he reached for the drawer of the side table. Pietro struggled to say something in protest, but the man already had the drawer half open. There was a glint of a silver  _something_ in the drawer, but Remy just grabbed out the little bottle of lotion he had a feeling would be there before shoving the drawer immediately closed again. Pietro sighed in relief, staring at Remy's hands as he held the tube.

The man squeezed the bottle to coat two left fingers in...distinctly not lotion. Remy's grin grew a little bigger as he rubbed the clear liquid between his fingers.

"Well, this is a nice discovery to make. Water based?"

"Silicone," Pietro said sheepishly, and Remy shrugged.

"Better for today's use anyway. Now, cher. Lie back and spread your legs." Pietro did as he was told, body still stiff as a board otherwise.

"Just figured I should say full disclosure and whatever but I have to say that I haven't done this before and I don't want to freak out too much but I mean like you're kind of big and--" Pietro was silenced by a slap across the face that had the interesting reaction of making him thrust into the air with a gasp.

"That was a run on sentence," Remy said, Pietro mumbling an apology as he continued. "And what sort of man do you take me for? Even if you  _hadn't_  just given me one rubber, I'm not going to fuck you for the first time when you're as drunk as you are now." He circled lube-covered fingers over Pietro's anus, grinning a bit to himself. "I'm going to have to remember how good you seem to like them slaps though, ange. Quite the sight to see."

Pietro's face went redder than it was before, and he tried to protest. Tried was the operative word, as about two syllables in all he could do was make a guttural groan as a finger pushed firmly into him. He rocked needily into the hand, cursing under his breath in German.

«Fuck, I swear I just, shit, shit...»

«Two can play the language game,» Remy said in French, leaning forward and pressing another finger inside of Pietro. The boy struggled to relax around him, desperately wanting more.

«You could fuck me right now, just do it.»

«I don't speak German, little bird.» "You have to beg."

"I want you...to...scheiße."

"If you can't make yourself say it, maybe that means something."

Pietro had to admit that he was right. Maybe he was starting to sober up, maybe he was realizing  _exactly_ what was happening, that oh god he was going to ask him to fuck him bareback into the bed, and that was even more terrifying than it was arousing. He felt sick to his stomach.

"I'm not going to force anything on you," Remy said, as if sensing the boy's worry. "One more finger. That's all."

Pietro nodded, shivering as more of the lube was trickled directly onto his ass and the man's third finger. He was agonizingly slow about pushing in, but then he curved his fingers and it was simply magic.

" _Fuck_ ," Pietro hissed, fists balling the comforter underneath him. Remy smirked.

"Mm, does it feel good, cherie? Do you love the feeling of my fingers inside you?" He laughed as Pietro panted in time with his thrusts. He shifted, moving to his knees with barely a change to the rhythm of his fingers, then started to lay kisses on Pietro's inner thigh. The boy groaned, hips pushing up desperately.

"Ange, if you're so desperate, jerk off for me." Remy barely got to finish the sentence before the boy hand ripped the condom off and had his hand tight around his cock, overwhelmed and thrilled with this new permission. It was simply so erratic, so desperate that Remy found his own breath catching in his throat. He fumbled at his waist with his right hand, and were Pietro's mind not so active at the moment he may have worried about the man pulling his trousers open enough to grab his cock. It didn't matter though, the energy filling him, the stretch and the pressure and the amazing sensation and...

Pietro heard an animalistic moan, and was somewhat shocked to realize it was coming from his own mouth as he spurt cum over his belly, his vision completely wiped out as the overwhelming feeling of release crashed over him.  _God_ , it was better than anything he had had before, with a partner or no. He lay their, panting, unable to move. He was only somewhat conscious of the fingers pulling gently out of him, the grunting sound as the other man jerked himself off onto the bottom of Pietro's chest, little ribbons of cum combining together on his tanned skin. He only really managed to come back to earth when he felt Remy kissing him, far softer than before but with just as much passion.

"C-can you just stay here and we do this every night?" he finally managed to get out, and Remy laughed a little.

"We can discuss that after we clean up," he said, looking at right hand with a dramatic grimace. Pietro let out a little  _ha_ , looking over the white ribbons on his torso.

"Sure. I have a joined bathroom with Wanda. We can clean up there, providing no one is secretly fucking in there right now," he said, gesturing to a door Remy had previously assumed was a closet. "Damn, I regret designing this with a huge stomach window. I'd  _love_ to keep this on for a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Rosa :u


	12. Saturday, November 1st: Remy's Apartment, Pietro's Bedroom

It was only the next morning, when Remy woke up somewhat hung over and thankfully in his own bed, that he realized he had spent the latter half of the party with a telling whitish stain on his trousers. Dear god, he hoped no one noticed... _anything_ that had happened there.

How had he even gotten home, for god's sake. He didn't want to think about the cost if his hosts had sent him home by cab.

He stretched and got up, an orange kitten mewling as it fell off his chest. As soon as he was to his closet, the possibly ruined slacks were off and a silk robe was on. Not like he had company in the place, but he still felt some oddity at the concept of walking around the flat completely naked. Almost as odd, in fact, as the fact his drunken state last night had prevented him from being able to fully strip.

Shuffling to the kitchen was a chore. He squinted, the bright light pouring through the open curtains even more painful than it usually was for his dark eyes. The orange kitten was now rubbing against his leg, accompanied by the two other cats of the house. He smiled down at them, nodding to assure them food was coming, and instantly regretted moving his head.

* * *

Pietro's powers allowed him to metabolize alcohol fast enough to not get hung over, but it didn't stop the pain when he woke up.

Some part of him had expected that the soft warmth curled around his back was Remy, not simply the bunched up comforter. The man had certainly seemed quick about leaving the party after they had cleaned off. Called for an hour cab ride home and everything. 

Eh, people left. Pietro should have learned that by then.

He stared at the wall, posters of musicians far drifted into obscurity and fancifully-dressed Canadian circus stars staring back at him.  _How dare you mock me, you beautiful creatures, you._

Though he may not have known then, Saturday was to be a mutual pity party.

 


	13. Thursday, November 27--Thanksgiving Montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! These days, it seems like I'm either super busy or have super low spoons. However, I'm going to try to catch up!

Thanksgiving.

The holiday is one that for many revolves around a beautiful cocktail of guiltily gorging on excessive food, drinking heavily, and attempting to avoid the inevitable terrible dinner table conversations with old relatives, with just the loveliest topping of niggling memories that the holiday was built around oppression and genocide. 

Still, Pietro found himself shoved in the middle of a battle for Where Turkey Should Be Devoured.

He would often grumble that neither his mother, his stepfather, nor Erik was American, so there was no reason whatsoever that they should even celebrate the holiday in the first place. Still, there were grumbles over who wanted to show up whom, which children should be with which parents, people who  _refused_ to speak to one another...it was hell.

As he listened to his mother yelling loud enough through Erik's phone, the two of them raising louder cacophonies in German, his mind wandered off to if it would be better if he could spend the holiday with Remy.

Aw geez, no. That'd be far too much. Running off with the boyf... _whatever's_ family screamed too much of being some gross old couple, meeting the family to discuss their upcoming country club wedding and their plans for their two-point-five beautiful adopted babies and all that domestic tripe. That certainly was  _not_ something Pietro had occasionally let his mind wander to. No, he was young, he had a whole life of fucking around to do before he'd ever wind up like Team Connecticut. Remy probably was thinking about it even less than him.

Besides, Remy said that they ate crabs and gumbo instead of turkey.  _Blasphemy._

He had taken it as a joyous victory when two weeks prior Remy had finally given into Pietro's pestering and gave him the man's skype name. The two agreed to video chat after whatever irritatingly-long meal they had to endure, which was about all he was looking forward to. It sounded like they had finally come to the conclusion that both Magda and his aunt and uncle would be coming to the House Magnus feast after all, which meant now he had to listen to Erik practically beg the Danes to let his daughter stay for at least a tad as well. Maybe it would be like that one awkward year when Lorna's mom invited herself to Thanksgiving and purred at Erik that things were "tougher than back then."  _Not_ something that he wanted to see ever again.

Pietro wondered if Remy ever took his wife to Thanksgiving with his family.

* * *

Remy hadn't realized quite how rusty his French was.

Yeah, he thought in Franglais. Had to even mentally translate a lot of words into English quite often. Still, he found a number of cousins ribbing him about the fact that New York was rubbing on his accent. 

It beat being made fun of for being adopted.

When a man is in his early thirties, it's a bit tiring to hear the adoption thing still. Granted, it only came up when people were drunk enough. Seeing as he didn't have a fishing boat or children, he was not exactly the most talked about person around the kitchen table. Of course, he was more than happy to hear about how his nephew was expecting another baby or his cousin's latest get rich scam or how  _damned horrible_ BP is for the five millionth time. At least this kept the topic off anything about his own relationships.

"So Remy, you made up with that pretty wife of yours, or you got a new girlfriend?"

Remy dropped his festive crab legs.

"Emil, I don't think--"

"Nah, Blanc, I wanna hear! You left that pretty girl back up in the city too long!"

"You know, Bella Donna been looking for a new man since hers left..."

"Remy I  _do_ hope you planning on giving me some grandbabies, it's bad enough you moved so far..."

_Why._

* * *

 Pietro thought that maybe the meal would get better when Kurt and his mother had unexpectedly dropped in. At best, he'd have someone to talk to, and at worst it would be like The Year Azazel Showed Up For Dinner. While it had left the at-the-time fourteen-year-olds mildly scarred for life at being shoved in a dark closet to avoid the demonic beast blowing up half their kitchen, at least it had ended the meal quickly.

Instead, Raven seemed to distract Charles from interfering in any family infighting while Kurt and Wanda monopolized each other's time, thus removing any allies from Pietro's general vicinity. By god, this holiday was a bad idea.

Voices started to raise louder at the "Adult End" of the table, so Pietro decided to attempt solace in his age group. Even as he leaned over to talk to them, though, he found himself noticing a blue finger interlocked with his sister's pinkie.

"Mm, I'm telling your gameboy on you," Pietro whispered, and the two whipped their hands off the table.

"It's not your business," Wanda snapped, and Pietro was a bit taken aback. 

"Alright, alright," he said, backing up. The two quickly relaxed, and Kurt looked at him with a bit of concern. 

"Sorry, you can--"

"Nah, nah, you should have your weird little date thing, whatever's going on here."

"It's not--"

"Nope, don't want to know, I have turkey, please pass the overly expensive salt."

Pietro proceeded to sulk for as long as he could through attempts to talk to him and people snipping at each other across him. _It's the most judgmental time of the year,_ he sang to himself in his head, before the most brilliant thought popped into his head.

"I'm going outside, I'll be back," he said, timing it for a moment when as many people seemed distracted as possible, before rushing out the room and into the garden in less than a heartbeat. He grabbed his old phone out of his pocket, flipping it out and letting his fingers fly across the little buttons.

* * *

 Remy was relieved from the barrage of questions when his phone buzzed.

"One second, s'il vous plaît," he said, pulling out his iPhone past the cackling of  _relatives_.

Remy smiled, typing out a little  _what's wrong_ before putting his phone in his lap.

"Who interrupting you on Thanksgiving, boug?"

"No one, just a friend from back home."

"I  _told_ you he'd have a new girlfriend!" someone shouted from the other end of the table, and Remy rolled his eyes at the shriek.

 _Buzz._ He grabbed his phone, a second buzz before he could even finish his unlock code.

__

 

Slapping a niece's hand away from his phone, he typed a reply before glaring back up at the table.

"I am  _not_ seeing a new woman," he said. He wasn't lying. A few people looked like they'd protest his statement, but a disturbing number of other people seemed to have something click in their heads.

"Well, I suppose it's good to know you have a... _friend_ up there."

"We wouldn't be upset if you and your  _friend_ came to visit sometime."

"Maybe he could adopt."

Remy thanked the baby Jesus more than anything he had ever done before when the phone buzzed again. Looking down at the screen, he chewed at his lip as he texted back.

 He pulled his chair away from the table, nodding over at the gaggle around him.

"Work stuff, I'll be back."

"Mmmmmhm," a cousin said, stealing the crab off his plate. "What you say, Blanc."

* * *

 "Did you even leave the room to talk to me?" Pietro asked, amazed by the din he heard over the phone. 

"They just that loud," Remy said, rummaging in the pocket of his hoodie to find a cigarette and a lighter while he pressed the phone to his shoulder. "Make your family sound good?"

"At least the back yard is quiet here."

"Well I'm sure you're freezing yourself half to death up there."

"It got colder in Europe."

"It's still in the thirties. Go inside, boy."

"You're not my daddy." Pietro wasn't sure how to feel about how easily that came out. Given the pause on the other end, it seemed Remy was conflicted on it too. "...Mr. Lebeau?"

"Maybe don't call me both those in too quick succession. It sounds like a bad movie."

"Oh, if you don't like it, maybe I _will_ start calling you Daddy." He was sure his grin came across in his voice. Remy scoffed on the other end.

"You don't even use my name, like hell you'd call me that."

"What, you want me to call you Remy now?"

"Considering..." Pietro could hear Remy as he shuffled around. "Well, not at school. But maybe elsewhere."

"Keeping it on the down low still. Got it." Pietro didn't admit to himself how much that hurt to say.

"It'd be for the best for both of us." Remy didn't admit to himself how much that hurt to say. Pietro coughed, making him realize he'd paused a bit long.

"So. I didn't know Yiddish was popular in your house."

"How long have you worked for Erik?" Pietro relaxed against the doorframe as he listened to Remy's laugh through the phone. It was deep, rich. The boy couldn't help but feel a warmth in his stomach, despite the heavy clouds of steam from his breath in the cold air.

"He normally snaps at you in German on campus."

"When he and Mom are in the same place, they go to trilingual levels of rage sometimes." Remy wondered why Pietro always seemed so reserved in his small, held-back laughs. "I think it has to do with the rest of the family being around. Half the family doesn't  _speak_ German, you know. Big, mixed family."

"I would make a toast to that particular sorrow if I had a bourbon in hand."

"Maybe next time we're in your office," Pietro purred, and Remy snorted in response.

"You  _really_ want me fired, huh, cher?"

"Eh, when you're fired, we'll just run away and join the circus."

"You got a bit of a thick head sometimes."

"No worse than yours."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd appreciate if people liked my [facebook page](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Joanie-Dark/823115634397499?ref=hl) if they like what I do. It'd be nice to see fans!


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